


In Which Sam is Not Sam

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble. Sometimes, when he's with Soulless!Sam, Dean forgets himself a little. Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/46948209184/its-not-sam-its-not-sam-because-his-laugh-is">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Sam is Not Sam

It’s not Sam.

It’s not Sam because his laugh is meaner, harsher. It’s not Sam because his smile melts into a smirk every single damn time, and because the twinkle behind his eyes is all but gone.

It’s not Sam because his fucking soul was ripped away from inside his body, and what stalks sleeplessly around their motel rooms now is barely even a glimpse of the blinding light that Dean’s little brother should be.

Dean still falls into bed with him, though. Like he has done almost every night since he got this new Sam back, and like he did almost every night with the real Sam, his Sammy.

Dean fucks _him_ more than he’d fuck Sammy, ‘cause if he snaps his hips hard enough and presses this Sam firmly enough into the mattress, crushes the side of his face against the pillows, then maybe he can stem the flow of biting, taunting words. ( _“Come on. Fuck me like you mean it, Jesus, is that the best you can fuckin’ do? What’s wrong, Dean? Scared? You scared I’m gonna break? I’m already fuckin’ broken.”_ ) Maybe he can make him shut the fuck up and - just maybe - he can stir up the kind of sweetly soft, whining noises in him that sound almost like Sammy.

This particular time is one of those times, and Dean, fuck, he falls head over heels for it, completely loses himself. For a minute or two, it’s _Sammy_ beneath him, all arching back and miles of quivering skin and whimpers of Dean’s name. He comes harder than he has in months, gets Sam - _Sammy?_ \- off as best he can while his body’s still trembling.

By the time he collapses next to Sam on the bed, his head is still in a daze, stuck in this hazy, rose-tinted place where Sammy’s back and he knows how to love Dean and he’s staying for good.

So if he utters a reverent murmur of, “Christ, baby boy,” and trails gentle fingertips along the trim line of Sam’s waist as he comes down, that’s why.

But then Sam punches him.

Because it’s not Sam.

“I’m not your baby boy,” this Sam growls at him, and he’s sitting upright, pinning Dean with this menacing glare that Dean never thought could fit on his brother’s face.

He swings his fist back again, and the next thing Dean knows is a sickening crack to his jaw, the force of it slamming his face to the side. There’s blood filling his mouth. Dean just lies there and takes it - no matter what he does, he can’t fight back against someone that looks so much like Sammy, someone who just a minute before was moaning like his Sammy would. He can’t do it.

“I am not,” Sam repeats, “your baby boy.” He swings his long legs off the bed and stands, giving Dean a pitying smirk. “God, I always hated you calling me that,” he tells him, with an indifferent sneer toying at his lips.

Sam walks away.

(It’s not Sam.)

Dean can hear him showering.

(It’s not Sam.)

If it was Sam, he’d be in there with him.

(It’s not Sam.)

Dean curls up tight on his side, willing the burning in his eyes to subside as he slowly brings a tentative hand up to explore his tender skin.It comes back bloody - split lip - and he can already feel his jaw swelling up, feel the bruise blossoming under his skin. He thinks it’s throbbing, but he’s numb to it.

The only thing he feels is a hollow aloneness. Someone has carved him out from the inside, tossed him to one side, and left him like this.

That’s not Sam, and Dean doesn’t know how to function.

One thing he does know, though, is that when he whispers a small, broken, “Please come back,” he’s not talking to the stranger in the shower.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!


End file.
